by Diane Ezzard
The next day was Sunday and I couldn’t help myself from thinking about Jay for most of the day. I had never met anyone like him. He had got inside my head and I thought I would be disappointed if I didn’t hear from him again. He had been able to bring out every emotion I knew, fear, excitement, sadness, nervousness and joy, all in the space of a couple of hours. He was funny and confident yet vulnerable and desperate. He made me feel comfortable one minute and nervous the next but I was intrigued and I wanted to find out more.
He turned up at seven-thirty that night. He walked in and it was like I’d known him all my life. He made himself at home straightaway.
“Are you having a cup of tea, Sophie?” he asked as he headed towards the kitchenette area and put the kettle on to make a drink.
“Yes, please,” I said. He just seemed to fit in.
“I should have brought some milk with me.”
“Oh, so you’re staying a while are you?” I asked
He just popped his head out from the corner and smiled. We’d been chatting for a few hours when he let slip he was homeless and had slept rough the previous night. I was mortified.
“Why didn’t you say something?” I exclaimed. He looked forlorn.
“You should have told me you had nowhere to stay. I wouldn’t have thrown you out like I did.” He told me the relationship with his parents had broken down so much so that it had become unbearable to live with them anymore. He said they’d had a big bust up and he’d walked out and hadn’t had time to sort anything out about where to go. I asked if any of his friends would put him up. He came out with excuses as to why that wouldn’t work. His best friend’s mother worked the streets he said, and that environment wasn’t for him.
After much persuasion on his part, I finally agreed to let him stay at mine if only for a short time until he found something more permanent. He promised it would just be for a little while. I was a sucker for a sad story and couldn’t bear to think of him outside in all weathers. At first, he slept on the sofa but he soon wormed his way into my bed.
I hadn’t thought it through and I didn’t know much about him and whether he could pay his way. He didn’t seem to have any problem with money though as he appeared to be solvent. He often pulled out wads of notes as if to impress me. I didn’t want to ask too many questions as to where he got his cash from as I wasn’t sure I’d be happy with his reply.
I soon found out that, alongside gambling, he had another lucrative source of income. I hated it the first time he took me on one of his ‘expeditions.’ I had been brought up with strong morals and values and anything dishonest didn’t bode well with me but I didn’t realise what was happening at first.
We’d gone into Manchester and he asked me to wait outside BHS. He said he had to go in for something and would only be a few minutes. I was puzzled at him leaving me on my own as it was so far removed from the constant companionship he normally showed towards me. The next thing I knew he came back out, grabbing me by the arm and marching me briskly up the street. “Quick,” he cried. He had a nervous edge about him but I didn’t argue and allowed him to hustle me along. I sensed his tension, but it wasn’t until we got into the Shambles pub that I realised why. From under his jacket, he pulled out half a dozen jumpers. I looked at him, my eyes wide open. He was buzzing.
“What’s up with you? Why’ve you got a face on you?” he sneered.
“You’ve stolen them?” I questioned.
“Shush, not so loud, you idiot.”
“I don’t like it, Jay. What if you’d been caught and been locked up? I couldn’t bear to be without you.” He smiled and patted me on the head.
“I won’t get caught. I never get caught. I know who all the store detectives are and where all the cameras are. I’m smarter than them. They won’t catch me. I’m one step ahead of them.” I frowned and my heart was beating fast.
“I don’t like you doing this, please, for me, don’t do it again.”
“Okay, okay don’t nag me. I’ll go and see if I can sell these in here, wait there,” and he got up and left me sitting there feeling exasperated. I always felt when I was with him I ran the gauntlet of my emotions.
On another occasion, we’d gone into town on one of our Saturday trips. He no longer trusted me to go into town on my own. He used to say that Manchester wasn’t a safe place for a young girl to be walking on her own. Occasionally, when we were out, he bought me something to wear but it wasn’t a pleasant experience shopping with Jay. Whatever I tried on, he wasn’t happy.
“You look too thin in that.”
“I can’t help my size.”
“That baggy jumper’s nice.”
“But I want to look thin.” Jay just shook his head.
“We’ll have to get some meat on those bones, won’t we?” He looked at me then at the shop assistant. She seemed scared to open her mouth and say the wrong thing.
He said he didn’t like me all skin and bone. He was jealous and was worse than any parent when it came to deciding if my outfit was too daring. He didn’t like me to show any flesh except in the privacy of the flat.
He always commented on me needing to put weight on and he always insisted on coming shopping with me. At first, I enjoyed his company as he was funny and had the shop assistants in stitches laughing at his jokes. It soon became stifling as I no longer had any freedom and my opinion didn’t seem to have a place in our relationship.
If we went for something to eat, it was always burger and chips. He would feed me the chips and I always felt embarrassed when he did that. I once got annoyed and tried to tell him not to do treat me like a child but he turned and looked at me glaring. His face and neck went bright red. He began to grind his teeth and started foaming at the mouth. Initially, I thought it was one of his jokes. When I saw his piercing eyes staring at me as if I’d done something horrific, it was as though he had been transformed into a wild animal.
He picked up the salt pot and banged it loudly back down on the table. He leant close to me. Our noses almost touched.
He whispered in a menacing voice, “Eat it.” I looked for the glint of a smile on his face but there was none. He was being serious. I stared back at him unable to move then took the chip and slowly took a bite out of it. Each mouthful I consumed stuck in my throat. My lips and mouth had gone so dry I had difficulty swallowing but I ate every last bit, feeling uncomfortable. At the time I couldn’t work out why I felt so ill at ease. After all, he was just making sure I ate well.
Some of the feelings I had around Jay were unpleasant, but looking back, he had a hold on me. Fear was the strong one that made me tow the line and I wanted him to accept me. It was fear that kept me under the thumb. It was fear that changed me from being someone who felt confident in making her own decisions and standing on her own two feet to someone who became incapable of trusting their own instincts. I began to dismiss my own opinions and even something as trivial as making a cup of tea, I sought his approval first. I made sure I got it right. If there was too much milk in, he got very angry.
Jay had two brothers and a sister. He said he didn’t bother with his brothers as they were always in trouble with the police. His sister was the only normal one in the family. She was married with two children and he took me over to meet her. I got on well with Dot. She lived in Knutsford which was too far away to get together with on a regular basis.
The first time we went over, she ushered me into the kitchen saying, “Sophie, help me make the tea, would you love?” I obliged leaving Jay watching TV with the kids. Then, in a hushed voice, she said something I should have taken heed of.
“You watch yourself with our Jay. He’s got a right temper on him just like my dad.” I nodded, even though I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant at the time.
Chapter Nine
THEN
The first sign of any real trouble came when he stayed out all night once. We’d been seeing each other for six months. Our relationship had never been a very romantic one, we’
d just grown closer. We’d been virtually inseparable since we met and I trusted him wholeheartedly so was shocked when he told me he was going out with his mates. I had never even been introduced to any of his friends. I didn’t like the sound of them. I thought they were lowlifes, and I felt they were a bad influence on him. The idea of him meeting up with his pals riled me as he’d insisted I stop seeing my friends as he said we only needed each other. The next day, when he came home, I questioned him.
“Where have you been?” I asked and, rather than being apologetic, he slapped me across the face.
“Don’t you question me, you slag,” he retorted. I couldn’t believe what he had just done or how he spoke to me. My cheek throbbed. I rubbed it with my hand and I stared at him puzzled, looking to see if he was joking but he carried on as if nothing had happened.
This was the beginning of the cracks that started to appear in our relationship. His insane jealousy stifled me. He made a point of being home when the toilet got blocked once and we called a plumber out. He didn’t trust me to be alone with another man even though I had never given him the slightest indication that I would stray. We argued a lot about my working with men and I had to swear on all my families’ lives that there was nothing going on. He normally came to meet me from work, which at first I enjoyed. Once I realised why he did it, I started to feel claustrophobic with him.
I wanted to believe the slapping incident had been a one-off, but I became wary of what I said in his presence. I no longer felt I could truly be myself. He slowly stamped on my spirit. Strangely, though, I could not now imagine life without him. I didn’t feel able to confide in anyone about what was going on between the two of us. I didn’t want it to be common knowledge that I had made a mistake and I didn’t want friends or family worrying about me.
Sometimes he really infuriated me but he still made me laugh. We were out once in a pub in the centre of Manchester. We stood at the bar waiting to be served and he dropped to the ground and appeared to collapse at my feet. I thought he was unconscious and was about to roll him over into the recovery position when he opened his eyes and gave me a cheeky wink.
“What the…, what the hell are you doing?” I cried. He jumped up and brushed himself down.
“I couldn’t help myself,” he giggled, “I can’t help it if I’m falling for you.”
A few weeks later, right out of the blue, I made a comment about someone on TV. I couldn’t even recall what I said exactly. I just remember what the consequences were. Jay stood up, red-faced, grabbed my arm and threw me across the room. My head ricocheted off the wall, and I landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. My head pounded. I started seeing stars. What just happened? He shouted abuse at me and I tried to block it out.
“You stupid bitch! Why did you have to go and say that and make me angry?” he cried. I was in shock. Totally puzzled, I didn’t know what I had said or done to cause this outburst. He began kicking me in the stomach repeatedly. Each time felt more painful than the last. I shook. I covered my head with my arms trying to protect myself. I instinctively curled into the foetal position.
Unfortunately, my silence made him worse. He continued to hurl torrents of abuse at me, kicking me repeatedly. With every crushing blow, I thought it was going to be my last breath. I prayed silently for the torture to stop. Eventually, it did. I heard the door slam and realised he must have left. I sheepishly peeped over my arms and sighed heavily as I realised I was alone. I began to cry. The pain in my head and body numbed me. I stumbled to the sofa and lay there for what seemed like an eternity. I tried picking through the chambers of my brain, desperately trying to fathom what I must have done that invoked this behaviour. For the life of me, I didn’t know. I felt frightened and alone.
A few hours later I heard the front door open, and I froze. I didn’t know what to expect. He had been drinking and his breath smelt of stale beer. It revolted me. Thankfully he was a lot calmer.
“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you but you brought it on yourself.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “What did I do?”
“Listen, I know it’s your time of month and you don’t always realise what you’re saying so it’s not surprising if I get angry,” he said. I was fuming. If this was his idea of an apology, then I wasn’t impressed. I didn’t have a clue what he meant, but I bit my tongue. I hadn’t seen this side of him nor did I want to see it again.
“I’m sorry if I upset you but please don’t hit me again,” I whimpered.
“You’re right, I might have been a bit heavy-handed, but it’s because I’m broke. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. If you lend me a fiver, I’ll go and get you a nice bunch of flowers. We’ll forget this ever happened and start afresh.”
I couldn’t believe the cheek of him. I didn’t know what to do, and I certainly felt that buying my own flowers wouldn’t fix it. I didn’t feel able to forgive him. I was still too upset and in too much pain physically to be ready to put this behind me but I didn’t want to let him know that. I was afraid of him now. I would have to tread carefully around this volatile side of him. He came towards me and pinched my chin and I winced.
“Come on babe, give me a smile. It’s not that bad. People have got through far worse than this.” I wasn’t sure about that but maybe it was a one-off and if he promised not to do it again, I thought we would get through it. I tried to smile though my eyes were dead.
“You’ve got to promise me you won’t hit me again,” I whispered.
“I promise,” he chirped but as he turned and walked towards the sink unit, I thought I saw a smirk on his face.
Things got back to normal for a while then a month later, one evening after work, I’d just cooked us a meal. I enjoyed experimenting with different recipes. I took pride in my cooking and I always tried to please him. I’d made us cod in a homemade cheese sauce with peas and garlic and mustard mash. We both sat down to eat it in front of the TV. Next thing, his plate came flying past my head and smashed against the wall behind me. I jumped up in shock as I saw the remains of the food slithering down the wall. “What have I told you about giving me too many peas!” he screamed angrily.
“I, I, I’m sorry. I didn’t think there were too many,” I said, trembling.
“You stupid, stupid whore!” he shouted. He moved towards me but I anticipated his actions. He chased me around the room, throwing a torrent of abuse my way.
“Stop it, Jay.” I tried to shout over him and pushed a chair in his path to avoid contact with him. He was too quick for me though and he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to the ground. Next thing, he kicked me in the stomach as if I was a rag doll. Every time he made contact with my skin, the pain was excruciating. I lay on the floor shaking, with my eyes closed, praying he’d stop soon but the blows kept coming, and then there was silence and he left.
This behaviour became a regular occurrence, and I allowed the unacceptable to become acceptable because I was too afraid to change anything. The last time I remembered being happy with Jay was when we celebrated our first year together. We went out for a nice meal and there were no incidents. By then I had already got to the stage where I questioned whether I should be staying with him. I didn’t know what to do about it. There was no way I would tell my family what was happening between us. I cut off all my friends on Jay’s say-so. I started putting a small mark on the dates in my diary every time he hit me. I didn’t enter the verbal abuse though which was now constant. I was desperately unhappy.
I didn’t feel supported, but that was mainly because I wouldn’t talk to those close to me. I felt isolated, and I wasn’t enjoying my job. I wasn’t given enough to do even though I kept asking for more responsibility. The trouble was, I just wasn’t fitting in at all. They weren’t like me.
Even at the Christmas party, no one got drunk. I didn’t see anyone having more than two glasses of sherry. I didn’t understand why people drank sherry and it wasn’t just any sherry of course. Jasmine made sure it had to be Harvey’s B
ristol Cream. Luckily, I’d taken a bottle of strong cider in that Becky and I swigged in the toilets to help us cope with their pretentiousness. If I hadn’t been studying for my accountancy exams and going to university one day a week, I don’t think I’d have survived my time there. Having the work to focus on helped me with my sanity.
With Jay, even the good times, like our first anniversary together, were peppered with sarcastic comments and put downs I no longer retaliated against for fear of reprisals. I was in denial about how bad my situation had become, and I continually justified his behaviour, feeling it was my fault in some way. Jay gambled heavily and had also taken to stealing money from my purse. Rather than approach him about this, I started to hide my cash. My savings dwindled to nothing, trying to keep us solvent. It became increasingly difficult to get by, and it got so bad that some weeks I didn’t know how we managed to eat. Occasionally, he had a big win, and this took the stress away, but he typically lost this money again in a short space of time. I was desperate for a way out and I began to plan what I was going to do.
One Sunday afternoon Jay was out, I didn’t know where. I went to the corner shop and bought a bottle of vodka and came back and started drinking. I had been saving up paracetamols and decided to take them all. I sat and thought about what I was doing for a while before I took the tablets. It was a scary thing to do, but once the vodka kicked in, the decision to take the pills became easier. I couldn’t see any other solution. I felt my life wasn’t worth living. It wasn’t long before I passed out.
When I came to, I didn’t know where I was. I was still going in and out of consciousness, but Jay was kicking me and shouting at me. I didn’t know then but thirty-six hours had gone by since I’d passed out. Jay didn’t do anything to get me any help. He just tried to shake me better.
